That's the Throat to Slit
by Obscure Bird
Summary: Based on Mrs. Lovett's suggestion to kill Anthony and keep Johanna. What if he got the chance? Alternative ending.
1. Chapter 1

**That's the Throat to Slit**

_I do not own "Sweeney Todd." If I did, I'd have something better to do than this, I'm sure._

_This is based on what Mrs. Lovett says after they agree to let Anthony bring Johanna to the shop. It was originally just a "what if" story, but it's kind of turning into an alternative ending, I think, if Anthony and Johanna had gotten there after the judge and beadle were disposed of, and Lucy… she doesn't matter. Think what you like, as long as Sweeney doesn't know and he and Mrs. Lovett are still alive._

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"You wanted a word, Mr. Todd?" The jangling bells on the barber's door gave one bright protest as the door swung into Anthony bag, already slung over his shoulder. He wouldn't even need to duck into the pie shop before he threw it in the waiting coach. Only call Johanna -_his_ Johanna- to come and they would be gone.

_His Johanna_, Sweeney thought, who this sailor had just been kissing long enough for Sweeney to climb the stairs to his parlor and cross to the dark window. The dirty water still dripped from the glass and into his damp hair, adding to his frustration. But after his hasty cleaning, suitable only while the night hid the remaining red streaks, he could still detect the metallic scent of blood. It gave him strength to suppress a cringe as he heard their lips part before Anthony followed his friend.

His fingers closed around his favorite razor as he thought of it again. Yes, he actually _heard_ it through the wet planks of the floor, despite the part of him that wanted to believe it was the click of Mrs. Lovett's stacked plates of perhaps her heels on the floor.

"Yes, Anthony. Come in."

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"Well now, ain't he just the proper gentleman," Mrs. Lovett remarked dryly. Johanna sat quietly in a shadowed booth, her fair features flushed with a touch of embarrassment and a number of less modest emotions.

"Yes, ma'am," the girl answered dreamily, not even noticing the question's sarcastic tone. Her voice was soft and high, her lovely little chin tucked shyly towards her slender neck. Even with her hair tucked beneath the sailor's woolen cap, she reminded Nellie so much of her mother. Beautiful, tender, smitten, just like Lucy had been.

And foolish. But she's not to blamed, poor thing, without even a bit of motherly advice, no one to bring her up a sensible young woman that can survive in a wretched place like London. _Well, that'll soon change,_ she thought, glancing at the door Anthony had just left by.

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"I wanted to thank you again, Mr. Todd, for helping me free Johanna." Anthony sat in the trick chair, staring at the barber's back as his friend toyed with the polished silver blade in his hand. In the dark of the shop, the razor and Sweeney's pale skin caught the eerie light of the moon. He seemed a ghost, and was as unresponsive as any spirit. "Mr. Todd."

"Where will you take her?" His question - his voice low, hoarse, quiet - was nearly swallowed up in the silence. He wasn't sure why he wanted to know. Gone was gone, and he wouldn't let her go with anyone. She was _his_ daughter, and she'd already been stolen once, stolen with the rest of his life. He had to see her, see Lucy's living shadow, to keep her with him and know that it wasn't all lost.

"Plymouth, sir." Mr. Todd looked back over his shoulder, fixing a sideways glance at the younger man. His dark eyes glinted with an emotion Anthony didn't quite recognize, reminding him of the edge of that gleaming blade. "In Devon."

Finally Sweeney turned, showing the sailor and empty smile. "By the sea." He flicked the razor open deftly. "I'm sure she'll be very happy."

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_If you don't review, don't worry. I write Shakespeare fanfiction, so I'm used to it. But if you'd like to give your opinion on whether of not Anthony should have his throat cut, please do._


	2. Chapter 2

For the first time Sweeney could remember, fear sprang into his young friend's innocent eyes. Too innocent. There was nowhere a man could live in so much hope , with so much optimism. The naïve always died. They had to. Like the foolish young barber who had been thrown from the dark hold of a prison ship to the burning sands of Australia fifteen years ago.

He stepped toward the shocked and fearful boy in the chair, smiling faintly as he wondered what sort of Todd Anthony might become if he could have died as Benjamin Barker had. But that could never be allowed. He had to die, _now._

"Is everything alright, Mr. Todd?" The boy's eyes leapt from the barber's ghostly face to the silver razor, gleaming eagerly through Sweeney's thin fingers. "Mr. - Oh!" Anthony leapt from the path of the first wild swing as the haunted grin on his friend's face turned to an expression of madness and hatred.

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"I s'pose he'll want you to marry him and all that, then, eh?" Ever busy, Nellie scrubbed hurriedly at the shop's stained counter as she kept one eye on the young blonde. "Trust me, dearie. Never the same once you let them drag you to the alter." _Although I don't imagine your Anthony would have to do much dragging…_

"Oh, Mrs. Lovett, ma'am," Johanna said, leaning forward. Excitement turned her voice into a sweet warble. "It's already planned. As soon as we arrive in Plymouth…"

"Take my dear Albert. Could've hired three girls to help cook his meals alone, bless his heart. And I would've, if there'd been money…"

"Anthony has family there, and a little house…"

"And there's laundry, and a whole house to clean…"

"Only a simple little cottage, where I can stay until we'll be wed…"

"And with the lad a sailor, gone months at a time, heaven only knows…"

"In a little church. Oh, Mrs. Lovett, he's promised me - It's this darling little chapel, right by the edge of the ocean…"

Mrs. Lovett was suddenly still. "By the…Oh…"

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"Mr. Todd, stop, _please!_" Anthony raced frantically around the deadly chair, trying to keep that much at least between him and its owner. A nearly full circle brought him to the chair's front-side while Sweeney stood raging at the opposite edge of the high carved back. "Why-" Sweeney, scowling, stomped on the lever in the floor. "What have I -" He staggered back, terrified as the chair's grated footrest flew up at him, its suddenly sinking back letting the barber leap over the chair and lash out savagely with the razor.

Dodging the blow, the sailor raced for the exit, but Sweeney moved with a hellish speed. His fingers dug into the boy's shoulders, driving him into the door. The dingy windows rattled in their frames and the bells gave a musical gasp as the doorknob slammed into his ribs.

Anthony fell to his knees, crying out as Mr. Todd's blade sliced into the flesh of his cheek rather than his throat. Blood poured hot down his face as he scrambled back to his feet and out of reach, darting into the shadows of the corner. He heard the barber's heavy footsteps behind him as he ran.

Sweeney cursed inwardly as he lunged for the sailor again. _Why didn't I do it quick, cut his throat as soon as he sat? Why did it matter where they were going? _But of course it mattered. It was his Johanna, his dove, his angel. He felt the need to know their plans as much as to stop them. And that he must. Anthony could not escape.

His clawing hand found the back of Anthony's shirt just as they neared the little stove that battled the shop's cod drafts. The boy turned quickly, breaking his grip but also making his throat, already bathed in scarlet streams - an easy target. The razor's silver handle shone as Sweeney swung it high, brought it down with all his strength.

Anthony's arms flew up, in his hand the teapot he had snatched from the stove, and was rewarded instantly with a muffled crash and a strangled noise of pain and surprise as Mr. Todd's wrist met the hot metal. As the barber faltered, clutching his wrist, he tore his seared, blistered palms away from the pot and let it fall to the floor as he ran again.

He had only gained a moment, and when Sweeney turned back to his quarry his face burned with a devil's black fury. He threw himself once more after the unfortunate sailor - mere heartbeats ahead of him - only to lurch forward and fall. He had stepped on the fallen teakettle and lost his footing.

But even as he landed hard on the wooden floor, his right hand flew out, his beautiful razor flashing. He felt it tear into the flesh on Anthony's leg, slicing through the veins and tendons behind his knee and sending the sweet crimson surge spraying across Sweeney's face, trickling warmly down his arm…

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Mrs. Lovett felt almost faint. What had she been about to say? Sailors, marriage…

_By the sea, Mr. Todd, that's the life I covet… _Her dream, sharing the sand and surf with the man she loved, was Johanna's dream, too. And the love of that innocent dream was about to become Nellie's next batch of meat pies. She tried to imagine carving the flesh from Anthony's arms knowing that they had held and comforted this poor soul, the very picture of her mother. She saw the face Johanna kissed in her dreams moldering in the reeking dark of the bakehouse. For the first time since she started grinding up Sweeney's customers, Mrs. Lovett felt sick to her stomach.

"Surely, you don't really want… All that sand…awful mess it makes…" _By the sea Mr. Todd, Ooh, I know you'd love it… _The pie shop started to spin. If Mr. Todd killed Anthony…

"Mrs. Lovett?" She snapped back to the present to find Johanna staring at her, her blue eyes wide and serious. "Do you think I'll be a good wife?" Nellie looked back, frozen, but didn't see Johanna. She heard another question altogether. _Mrs. Lovett, do you think they'll really take Benjamin away from me?_ She had answered then with remorse only for here beloved Mr. Barker. Why couldn't she be pitiless now for Mr. Todd? The girl before her stared still, almost pleading. "I so want to be, but I've never had to clean, or cook…"

She glanced over her shoulder and stood, tripping daintily to the counter. "Mrs. Lovett…" She truly was all innocence and eagerness. "Would you teach me to make a pie?" _Oh, God._ The baker's mouth hung open, her mind racing.

Suddenly, the wooden ceiling began pounding with a series of crashing footfalls and muffled cries. One, she was sure, had come from Sweeney, making her start. But the final agonized howl was unmistakably from Johanna's love. Nellie's blood ran cold. She forgot about the girl leaning over her counter.

Until that girl screamed out the sailor's name and ran for the stairs to Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlor.

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Anthony fell headlong, screaming as blood leapt from the wound in his leg. Sweeney lay stretched still at his heels, lulled for a moment by the sensation of the hot, luscious liquid pooling around his outstretched arm, welling up around his skin. But this job, he remembered distantly, was not finished. He could not be calmed yet by the treasured rubies piling up so near his face.

As he rose steadily to his feet, the sailor had already flailed his way to the barber's chair and used it to pull himself upright. He clutched the carved armrests as he stood helplessly. Mr. Todd was nearly there, striding intently towards him. Fear and panic were shining in the younger man's eyes, written on that innocent face.

His former friend drew near and Anthony gave a strangled sound as Sweeney raised the dripping razor again. In desperation, he snatched at the barber's hand, stopping the blade in air so abruptly that his own blood flew from its edge to spatter his face. His uninjured leg wavered beneath him. "Mr. Todd… please…"

"You can't take her away from me! I won't let anyone take her from me again!"

"_Johanna!?_"

"_MY DAUGHTER!_" Screaming in rage and desperation, Sweeney tore his hand out of Anthony's grasp and pulled the razor back to strike again. "_SHE'S MY DAUGHTER!_"

"Johanna!" His eyes fixed on Anthony's throat, Mr. Todd never noticed that the boy was looking at the door of the shop.

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"Johanna - wait - stop!" Mrs. Lovett hurried out from behind the counter and raced for the door but she couldn't beat Johanna. The shop's cheery little bells rang violently as Mr. Todd's daughter burst out into the courtyard, followed hard by his accomplice. "_Johanna!_" If Anthony's death suddenly seemed like a disaster, Nellie knew it would fall far short of the consequences of the girl interrupting Sweeney in the process of causing it. _Please, God, let her trip!_

The baker's pounding heart gave a leap for joy as trip she did, perhaps from the unaccustomed weight of the sailor's heavy boots. With a started cry, she sprawled forward across the wooden steps. Mrs. Lovett quickly closed the distance between them as she scrabbled, panting, to regain her feet, and took her by the arm. "Best to wait a moment, love," she huffed franticly. "It'll be alright."

Johanna struggled for a moment, then at the sound of muffled shouting inside, broke loose, calling out to the doomed sailor as she cleared the final steps to the barber's door and barged into the dark shop. Nellie was only a few steps behind her as the girl froze. Behind the devilish barber's chair, Johannas's intended, bloodied and visibly terrified, stood at the mercy of Mrs. Lovett's own beloved.

"Johanna!" Anthony looked into her eyes through the dark, his hand held out to her.

Sweeney Todd struck, quick and clean. Mrs. Lovett saw the flash but could barely believe that was all, even as the sailor let out one final, gurgling scream and fell. Only then did the killer notice Johanna, who still stood, graceful even in fright, like a trembling statue.

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Sweeney forgot all else as soon as he saw her. Her skin was pale, glowing in the moonlight like his own. His own daughter. In his own shop. He stared as he stepped around his chair and came towards her.

_There was a barber and his girl,  
and she was beautiful.  
__A foolish barber and his girl,  
__The only remnant of his world,  
__And she was beautiful…_

He actually smiled.

Johanna screamed.

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The sight of Mr. Todd drenched in blood set Mrs. Lovett on edge. For the second rime that night, fear tinged with excitement coursed through her. The brutality it must require to make a man's life rain onto the barber's face and hair and clothes made her shudder, but she always dreamed that someday he's climb down the stairs to the bakehouse just like that, leaving a trail of crimson drops along the cold stone steps, and whisper in her ear that…

At the sound of Johanna's shriek, her fantasies shattered. So, she saw, did Sweeney's smile - the first she could recall without something darker behind it. Replacing it was an expression of hurt. The precious silver razor fell to the floor. Nellie could almost hear his heart beating, breaking, in the silence that followed. Then Johanna began to sob.

Mr. Todd came forward, slowly, his arms open to comfort his lamb, his sweet daughter. But she turned and fled, giving a breathless cry as she ran. _No._ Bracing herself, Mrs. Lovett blocked the doorway and flung her arms around the poor, wailing creature as she tried to leave the shop. "No, Johanna, please!" She was all but screaming to try and reach her. "You have to stay!" Struggling, the girl forced her back onto the narrow landing. "It's not - Wait! Johanna!" With a piercing cry, Johanna tore away from her captor, sending Nellie reeling back into the railing.

She glanced back through the door. Despite the gloom, she could see that torn expression plainly on Sweeney's pale features. He was too still, scaring her. "Johanna!" She _had_ to make her stay. _"Johanna!"_ Already at the foot of the stairs, Johanna moved slower, her legs weakened by grief and terror. But Mrs. Lovett knew she'd never catch her. "Johanna, please!" She shot another uncertain glance at Mr. Todd. "Johanna - _JOHANNA, HE'S YOUR FATHER!_"

The figure in the shadows below stopped, turning her pale face up to Mrs. Lovett. The baker felt relief wash over her, until she looked down and saw that her pretty little features wore an expression of pure horror.

In a flash, she was gone again. Nellie ran down the stairs after her, but she was already winded. She arrived only to see the coach Anthony had hired pull away at a full gallop.

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Johanna was gone.

He had seen her. She had been all he had dreamed of. And she ran from him.

Sweeney fell to his knees in the pooling blood on the floor. He had fought so hard to have her back and she would not have him.

His shop seemed to lean and loom over him. Had Mrs. Lovett left him, too? He heard her shout and then she ran after Johanna.

He was alone, in the dark and cold of the London night. Even his razor was no longer in his hand. Even the blood had begun to cool around his knees.

_This isn't how it was supposed to end._

Suddenly, a figure filled the open doorway. It came nearer.

"Mr. Todd?" It was Mrs. Lovett.

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"Mr. Todd?" He looked up at her like a lost child, his dark eyes stricken. She felt tears welling up in her own as she knelt in the blood and wrapped her arms around him. To her surprise, Sweeney returned the embrace, clinging tightly to her. Almost desperately. "We'll get her back, love." She looked across the floor, staring into the sailor's glazing eyes. "I promise."

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_To BeBopALula and MrsMargeryLovett, the only reviewers with pity in their hearts, sorry. And thanks to everybody. _

_Haha! I feel like kind of a bastard now. Stay tuned!_


	3. Chapter 3

Jack Guffie's heart pounded long after the echoes of the horses' hooves in the empty streets of London had faded and his coach and four was swallowed up in the empty night. Not until they were miles into the open scrub country, galloping through the midnight chill as though old Lucifer himself had been clinging to the axles, did the prickling feeling on the back of his neck begin to subside, the boys shrill cries quiet in his mind. _Go! Go! Just go!_ His obedience to such wild orders and his own fear made him feel foolish. He pulled back on the reins, bringing his sweating team to a trembling halt.

Leaping down from the carriage's box seat, he could still hear the sailor boy sobbing weakly inside the coach. He was absolutely bewildered, and Jack felt almost angry as that shameful fear brushed once again along his spine. He tore open the coach's little door. This foolishness was not what he had been hired for.

The boy inside let out a wheezing, strangled cry as the driver leaned into the still carriage. Jack looked closer. A scrawny little thing, the lad's white face was streaked with tears and far too young looking. This was not the man he had spoken to in the marketplace. _Where is he?_ He was sure he had gone into the shop back on Fleet Street. He fought off a shiver. "What - where?" The boy starting weeping breathlessly again, cowering in the corner of the threadbare seat, but gave no answer. "What's going on?" The only response was a series of louder sobs. Losing his patience, he climbed into the carriage and took the silly thing by his shoulders, shaking him. "Breathe, boy! You have to tell me where you're going!"

"Anywhere! Oh, please, take me anywhere!" Trembling, the little sailor raised his limp hands feebly in front of his face.

"I can't take you anywhere! You have to tell me where! I -" Jack snatched the boy's wrists and made him look at him. "Plymouth, the man said. Is that where you're -" The wretch let out a miserable wail. He let go, thinking. That was what he had said, a double fare to Plymouth in -

_Oh, bloody hell, the fare!_ "Hey, have you got any - Listen, pal! I said, have you got any money?" If there was any answer, it was lost in all the tears and cries. He shook the boy violently. "Can't you talk? Tell me if you can pay your fare!" Nothing. The driver bit his lip hard, his anger finally burn away his earlier fright. "Get out."

"Please, sir, please don't take me back. I can't, I -"

"Get out of the coach."

"What?" The little sailor fixed him with a wild, horrified look.

"I said get the hell out!" He clapped his calloused hand over the scruff of he boy's neck and hauled him to the carriage's open door. "_OUT!"_

Wedging himself in the doorway, the little rat began to scream and beg like a girl. "Please, sir, I - I'll do anything. Please, don't -"

"You'll what!?" Jack kicked him hard in the side, throwing the boy out into the dust of the road. "You think I can afford this? Do you have any idea how much it costs to feed these bloody brutes!?" He gestured wildly to the burly draft horses that shied at the sound of his screaming. "How the devil do you think I'll stay out of the workhouse and keep a little bread on the table by missing good fares to run fools' errands like this one!? And what -" He seized the weeping lad by the collar. "- the hell -" He shook his furiously, jerking his limp body to and fro. "- will you d-" The sailor's hat fell off.

He froze as tangled yellow hair poured over the thin figure in his hands. The girl in his hands. _Oh._ Jack's mind went blank as he tried to fit this new twist into the night's tangled events.

But she was a pretty thing.

And he remembered a place nearby. One of his only regular late-night customers, a judge from the city, went there often. And spoke of the pretty women there. Pretty girls…

_Times is hard, after all. _He stared at her, thinking.

"Get back in the carriage."

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The sun hadn't yet risen when Mrs. Lovett and her beloved tenant sat down by the fire. She sat on his right, her side pressed comfortably, satisfyingly against his as she held a cloth soaked in cold water to his skin where his wrist had struck the hot teakettle. The injury was not serious, but the pale flesh that clung to his bones was bruised and sported a mild burn, and she had seen him flex that wrist ruefully during their hours of feverish work. Anyway, Nellie longed for any opportunity to stay so near him, to lavish such attention on him. She felt, even though she knew his thoughts were on his beautiful blonde Johanna, that he was hers.

Letting out a contented sigh, she lay his sore wrist gently on her knee and leaned back against him. She'd been tired yesterday when Anthony and Johanna had arrived, and the rest of the night had been hard. Nellie had spent an eternity blood out of the barber shop after they had sent Anthony down to the bakehouse. Feet first he had dropped, with Mr. Todd supporting his body as Mrs. Lovett herself pushed the lever. It seemed more appropriate, like a burial at sea.

Sweeney had done all the heavy lifting down in that dark cellar while she cleaned. She had already started on the bodies from earlier, but she thought he could finish faster. That he did, although from the smell she thought he had burned the sailor whole. She came down to find him hurling the rotting tidbits from the corners into the reeking fire, the evenings many corpses already reduced to a heap of unidentifiable meat. He mopped the stone floor as she washed their bloodied clothes. She had raked the still hot ashes from the oven and threw them into the sewers as he poured bucket after bucket of water down after them to sweep them away.

The whole place stank, more than usual, but there was nothing else to incriminate them. And, she had told him as they stood in the bakery, they had a fine story should anybody come asking. They could say that the judge had taken Johanna and left, and Anthony had gone after them. "It's not as though he'll ever deny it…"

They were safe. And very tired.

"Don't we make quite a team, Mr. T?" Mrs. Lovett's eyes were closed, her head resting against Sweeney's shoulder. "Like right clockwork, the two of us." Her partner sat silently, staring sorrowfully at the floor. Somehow, Nellie felt disappointed.

She didn't really blame Sweeney. She knew the fantasies that kept her going as she butchered those countless corpses were only that. Fantasies. She didn't really expect a bloodstained Mr. Todd to burst into her cellar as the judge fell heavily through the trapdoor, something in him suddenly freed. But something should have changed. He wasn't meant to still be brooding away like before. She should at least have a chance.

Frowning, she shifted her weight to the worn cushions behind her as she looked at he man beside her. She supposed he must feel cheated too. She sighed. "Would you like to talk about it, love?"

"No." He didn't lift his eyes from the tattered carpet.

_Typical._ "Might help, you know. My old mum used to say -"

"No, Mrs. Lovett." The familiar scowl crossed his face again. "I do _not_ want to talk about it."

Nellie's heart sank a little, her gaze falling with it to join his on the floor._ Same old brooding. Same old Sweeney Todd._ She shouldn't be surprised. She wasn't surprised, a part of her insisted. But she had hoped, after he had wrapped his blood-dripping arms around her… _Guess not then, eh?_

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_I ruined it all. _Sweeney wouldn't talk about it, couldn't escape from it now that the furious labor he had absorbed himself in was finished. _Everything. Bloody. Ruined._

He still saw the sunlight, colorful world he had been taken away from. In his dreams only, and now it was nothing but a dream. It wouldn't be back. Johanna had left him.

It was all his fault.

Why should he say so? Didn't she know? He stared hard at the stained floorboards. _Yes, Mrs. Lovett, I have destroyed my life, probably yours as well and certainly Johanna's. _Now she was alone, and they would stay forever in their own shadowed Hell, killing until the hangman took them. _When we should be laughing, together, going to market, buying flowers to decorate Johanna's new room behind my shop…_

And then she would stand, look at him and leave. Discreetly, he supposed, but he'd know why. Who would build their home among ruins?

As if on cue, he felt the baker stirring at his side, lifting his aching wrist from where it lay sprawled pathetically, palm up, across her knee and placed it gently but briskly on his own. "Well, might as well go to bed then. Try and get some rest before we start out." Her voice had that flat edge that always showed she was frustrated. "You should probably do the same. Heaven only knows where we'll end up." She stood, her skirts rustling as she began to leave.

Sweeney stiffened, his eyes darting finally to the black mass of skirts and lace that crossed his sight, to the empty seat beside him, back to Mrs. Lovett's retreating figure. She was almost to the door. Only to bed, Sweeney told himself. She said she was only going to bed. But there was a part of him that was still lost, still heartbroken.

Still afraid.

"No…" His voice was faint, weak. But by some miracle she stopped, her fingers already on the doorknob.

She stood frozen, not quite believing she had heard what she did. It was a mistake. She turned slowly, uncertainty and surprise obvious on her face. And hope. Mr. Todd, she saw, wore the same stricken expression she had seen earlier. She felt her heart melting. "What is it, love?"

Sweeney already regretted speaking, ashamed of his weakness. He looked down again, avoiding her eyes. _"Leave"_ screamed half of his mind. The rest cried _"Please don't!"_ A strangling sensation seized control of his throat. The demon barber felt utterly defeated.

Nellie returned to her seat hesitantly, carefully, and lay her fingers softly on his arm. He looked up. "I'll stay if you like. Anything, Mr. Todd."

He nodded. "Yes," he choked. "I -" He stopped himself. _I don't want to be alone._ "You can talk. About anything." His eyes searched hers. "Toby, if you like. You lost him, too."

Mrs. Lovett's face fell, and Sweeney could tell she had pushed her own loss out of her mind, as he has tried to do. But she had loved that boy. Her hand fell away from his arm and she began to toy with a stray bit of thread hanging from her dress. "Well, there's not much we could do with him. If he hadn't run we'd have had to…"

Silence hung between them for a long moment. Mrs. Lovett seemed to find the lace on her mangled gloves engrossing. Mr. Todd's own eyes fell to the damp patch spreading around the wet cloth on his wrist.

"Foolish." He looked up at the sound of her own voice. "I thought I could keep both of you. Guess I had to choose."

_Choose?_ She would have killed her precious little orphan to be with him? He stared hard at her.

She looked up. "What? You know I love you."

He did. She had told him so before. But…

Nellie sighed. His eyes were still on her face, but she could tell he was gone again. _His Johanna._ "We'll get her back, love," she murmured as she lay back resignedly in the old chair.

_Mrs. Lovett._ Sweeney watched as the woman beside him drifted to sleep. _Mrs. Eleanor Lovett._ He shifted slightly beside her , settling back so that his arm just barely touched her shoulder. Very gently, he shook off the bandage on his wrist and placed his hand over hers. _Nellie…_

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A dim red glow was beginning to filter through the smog as Jack Guffie's coach and four rolled slowly back into the city. Driver and horses alike were exhausted, looking forward to a long, miserable day.

Inside the carriage, deep, empty silence seem to be growing, welling up. Accusing. The heavy purse tucked in his coat was a guilt weight against his chest. He felt like a Judas. But the gold in that purse, he told himself, would buy enough gin to cheer even the devil himself.

Absorbed in these thoughts, he never noticed that as the weary team ambled past Fleet Street, a little figure tumbled from the carriage's bouncing supports into the filth of the street and ran stiffly into the fog and shadows of the morning.

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_Thanks to everybody who reviewed. Very kind of you. If you don't mind, I hope you'll review again and tell me if you thought Sweeney was out of character in this chapter. I tried hard to make sure he wasn't, but..._


	4. Chapter 4

The day had brought a miserable drizzling rain that created a forest of little swirls in the thin fog of St. Dunstan's Market. The usual market crowd, at least, was much thinner and, Mrs. Lovett noted gratefully, the din was much weaker than the norm. With her back and limbs aching from the night's work and her eyes dry from too little sleep, Nellie had no need of a headache to trouble her more. "It's a coach and four we're looking for," she mumbled what felt like the hundredth time as she and Mr. Todd prowled the market place. At her elbow, the barber was silent, his dark eyes running over the shoppers with a grim, dangerous look. Neither of them needed the reminder. They had already questioned the drivers of dozens of the blasted rigs.

Another coach edged through the crowded street as she thought. Craning her neck to watch it pass, she searched hopefully for something familiar about the carriage, the horses, the driver. There was nothing. _All look the bloody same_. Shouldn't they try to stand out, paint a name on the coach or something? Not, of course, that they could have hoped to stop or follow it.

The weather, unfortunately, made everyone else at St. Dunstan's anxious to be home as quickly as possible. And every one that could afford it was looking for coaches, too.

"What about that one?" Starting at his gruff voice, she followed Sweeney's nod towards a coach pausing in the gap Pirelli's gaudy cart had once occupied.

"No. Already tried it."

"The one pulling up beside it?"

She looked again, the driver catching her eye and scowling. She shook her head. "Twice."

The stood in the street for a long moment, searching. At the end of the long bins of grubby produce, a carriage in rather better repair than the others was taking on passengers. The man on the box seat, waving his patrons grandly towards the open door, was not as shabby-looking as his fellows. He was not the kind of driver Mrs. Lovett would expect to find taking predawn fares.

"There!" Sweeney was looking to the side of the market place where the clinging white fog whirled around the hooves and nodding heads of four underfed horses. Their heavy steps provided the rhythm for the dirge of creaking, moldering leather harness. The coach and ragged specter of a coachman in the box seat bore the same traces of poverty and disrepair. It's grave pace slowed even more, and with a groan the coach lurched to a stop at a filthy shop front perhaps fifty feet away.

There was not a thing familiar about it, but Mrs. Lovett felt her heart beat faster as she followed Sweeney through the milling shoppers, hurrying in his wake as he shouldered his way eagerly through the street._ This could be it_. Straining, she caught a glimpse over the barber's shoulder. There was already a couple climbing up the single rickety step to the carriage's door.

_No!_ She faltered for a moment, letting Mr. Todd move a few strides ahead so that she had to run after him. He must have seen it, too, for he began to shove his way through the crowd, the curses of pushed or fallen Londoners following him.

The door shut. There was ten feet to go. The driver whistled to the horses, shaking the reins. The team gave one weary heave. Five feet. The wheels started turning…

"Wait!" The word felt strange on Sweeney's tongue. It had been years since he had any need to beg a favor from anyone, however small, or could expect any kindness. _Except from Mrs. Lovett._

But the carriage paused, the gaunt driver looking down apologetically. "I'm sorry, sir. She's already full. You'll have to catch-"

"No," Nellie panted, leaning with one hand on Mr. Todd's shoulder as she fought to catch her breath. "We're looking for a coach that made a stop at 186 Fleet Street very early this morning. Or late last night, maybe."

"Fleet Street, you say?" The driver frowned, shifting the reins to one hand. "Can't say as I've been that way lately, and there's none too many blokes what'll take passengers at that hour…"

"Please, sir. It's very urgent."

Sweeney smiled coldly at the thin man. "And of course," he added smoothly, reaching slowly into his coat pocket, "We'd be very much obliged if you could tell us anything at all." Even Mrs. Lovett was relieved when he produced only a few coins.

Catching the glint of gold in the barber's palm, the coachman racked his brains. "Well, all I can say is, there's myself out last night, and Joe Baker, he usually is, you see, but he took ill and might've turned in early. You might try Jack Guffie, if you can find him." His dark-ringed eyes darted hopefully between Sweeney's eyes and the money. "Last I seen him, he was going for a drink. Usually goes to the Bald Faced Stag over in Bell Yard. Ain't seen him since." He paused again. "You can say Tom Ashton sent you, if you like. He knows me." Todd's cold eyes searched the driver's hungry ones before he raised his open hand, smiling.

"Thank you." Standing straight, Nellie left her hand reassuringly on her beloved's shoulder. Whether she intended that comfort for him or for herself she wasn't sure. Since she had woken to find herself pressed comfortably against the dozing barber, her hand held tenderly in his, she had felt an awkward sense of uncertainty and awe in Sweeney's presence, as though she had lost the balance that let her dance safely around the dangerous man she loved.

"Thank you, sir." The coachman gathered the reins . "Ma'am," He added with a nod to Mrs. Lovett. With a whistle to his waiting team, he drove on again. "Good luck!"

Mr. Todd stared silently after the lumbering carriage, his face unreadable except for the determination in his eyes. Her fingers still spread across the black leather of his coat, Nellie searched those pale features. Where is he behind that, in his thoughts? Poor thing… "What did I tell you, love? Have her home in a tick." Her voice was soft and hopeful , and as she spoke she ran her fingers lightly down his sleeve to wrap around his own, cold and thin.

Her very heart felt frozen as he turned that icy stare toward her, with none of the tenderness he had shown last night to be seen. For a moment she thought she had made a mistake, crossed some secret boundary. Then he closed his fist around her pale fingers, his grip hard but not angry. _We'll do this,_ said those grim eyes.

The energy that surged through them like a second pulse was not love, but Nellie loved it.

XXXXXX

Sweeney should have objected to her touch. Even after his weak moment last night, he didn't love her. But he was grateful to have her with him. They could do it. Mrs. Lovett had something powerful about her. He felt it now. She made everything work, gave him everything he needed. And she had stayed. No one else would have. No one else could have made his countless victims disappear into the stomachs of their friends and neighbors. No one else could find Johanna.

He gave her a ghostly smile as he released her hand, his eyes fixed on hers. _We can do this_. Mrs. Lovett understood, he could tell. She fixed him with that wicked look, both keen and dark, a crooked grin crossing her white face. _A bloody wonder_…

At a single beat, the pair of fiends turned on their heels and marched towards Bell Yard at a determined pace. Nellie's heart beat faster as their strides through the emptying streets occasionally made their shoulders touch. Despite the voice that told her coldly that he only needed her help to find his precious little Johanna, she was almost giddy to be in his attention in any way. But she wanted more, too, feeling such rapture and tearing disappointment at once that her heart leapt and dropped with the rhythm of her quick steps.

Beside her, Mr. Todd's pulse, too, was quickening. His palm was almost itching, longing for the engraved handle of the razor tucked in its holster, and the familiar tension, a bloodthirsty blend of nerves and anticipation, seeped through his veins. _Going for Johanna_… His mind swam with images of a grimy throat about a coachman's filthy collar, silver in the city's flickering lamplight, and so much blood. And Johanna's sweet face, innocent face, peering out of a corner, safe, accepting, forgiving. It could all be right again. It had to. He walked faster, turning a corner.

Nearly running now to keep up with corner, Mrs. Lovett almost swept past him as he stopped suddenly around a corner. As she came to a flustered halt, she found herself looking out across a wide gray square. Bell Yard was deserted except for a few youths lurking around the doors of little shops. The rain pooling around the filthy cobblestones echoed against the walls of stores and offices, and, in the near corner, those of a seedy-looking inn who grungy windows poured yellow lamplight into the street. A dirty sign proclaimed the out-of-place building "the Bald Faced Stag." Beneath the sign sat a much-abused old carriage, its team of horses dozing in the traces. Looking at her partner, Nellie saw a too familiar light in Sweeney's eyes as he stated down the abandoned coach. "Easy, love." She put her hand cautiously on his arm, which hung too close to the holster that held his beloved friend. "We've got to do this right." Meeting her gaze, he nodded, allowing the baker to lead the way.

Mrs. Lovett edged past the empty coach, guessing from the state of the cobbles beneath the horses' feet that they had been there for some time. _We've got him!_ She felt her excitement growing as she pushed open the creaking door and stepped into the pub. The inside of the bar was as grubby as the outside, smelling heavily of cheap ale and pipe smoke. A fiddle played merrily, if not particularly well, in one corner, scratching over the slurred conversations of the few conscious patrons. She scanned the men, searching their rough and sallow faces for one that might belong to their coachman. Before she found it, she felt a nudge at her elbow as Sweeney, smiling, nodded towards a heavy fellow slumped over the counter. Stepping nearer, Nellie caught a strong whiff of smog and horses from the coarse weave of his coat. "Jack Guffie?"

"N?" The man started, nearly scattering the forest of empty glasses in front of him. His eyes had dark circles under them as though he hadn't slept for weeks.

"We're looking for the coach that made a stop on Fleet Street, number 186, very early this morning. We -" Guffie's jaw hung slack, his eyes staring and bright with fear as much as gin. Nellie paused. "We've been instructed to give the driver a tip, if the passengers made a safe journey."

"Fleet - On Fleet Street?"

"A pie shop," Sweeney added. "There was a - a sailor boy. Young."

"Oh…" Jack's head spun. He had though that maybe in a week or two when the girl never arrived in Devon there might be questions asked. Not now, though, and while he sat drunk in a bar. "I…"

"And another. A grown man, a sailor too." _What?_ Sweeney looked at his partner, his face blank. _What is she doing?_ Mrs. Lovett narrowed her eyes suspiciously, sensing more than alcohol behind Guffie's stammering..

"Oh, yes!" The coachman's eyes darted from baker to barber and back to the counter. "Them. Ah…" Todd's eyes grew wide, catching in to Nellie's trick. "Yes, they arrived safely." Sweeney lurched forward, his fingers closing around the razor.

Behind her back, Mrs. Lovett snatched his arm, squeezing it. "Oh, that's good! Ain't it, Mr. T?" Looking over her shoulder, she gave Sweeney a meaningful look. _Stay with me, love. We'll do this_. She felt the muscles in his arm relax. "And where exactly were they going?" He tensed again in the long silence that followed, but his clenched fists were empty now. Nellie still smiled coldly.

"Brent." Jack's voice was strangled, his face white. "An address in Brent. Don't remember it exactly, but… But that's where they are, safe as you please." Sweeney felt his fist start to shake of its own accord, his arms twitching likewise as his rage grew. _Liar!_ He wanted to shout, but his throat closed on itself. His throat closed up and he wanted so badly to tear this bloody Guffie's open.

"Good." Mrs. Lovett's voice was almost a growl. "Give the man the tip, Mr. Todd." _The tip of my razor!_ The barber stood frozen. _Bastard!_ "Mr. Todd…" She stepped back, her shoulder touching his chest as she murmured to him. "Breathe, love. We'll have him." Struggling, he cleared his chest and regained control of his limbs. "The tip, if you would, Mr. T." He fished a few more coins out of his coat pocket and pressed them forcefully into the other man's sweating palm. Jack Guffie only whimpered faintly as Nellie guided Sweeney back into the street.

XXXXXXX

Rain dripped endlessly onto the sodden blanket over the head of a lonely little figure. The creature who had tumbled earlier from the carriage's supports was huddled shivering against the wall of an old tavern, trying to rest out of sight in the alley beside it. His back and limbs ached as though he had been beaten. His neck was stiff. His head throbbed. And his heart, worst of all, was broken, betrayed.

For his consolation, he had one bottle of gin he had bought with pennies left lying in the street. It was half empty now, the precious liquid inside mingled with rainwater and his tears. He took another sip, but it didn't help. It only made him think of her.

The inn's old door closed loudly, making the little urchin flinch. Crouching further into the shadows, he waited for the emerging drunk to pass by the little close. Much to his surprise, two very sober figures stormed into the narrow pass, their steps scattering the pooling filth on the ground. He quickly hid himself under the blanket.

"He's lying!" a man snarled.

"I know, dear. Calm down. I saw him head the other way and Johanna was in no state to turn him around." That was a woman's voice, with a flat, almost harsh edge to it, a voice he knew. _No._ "But we can't prove it without having to admit Anthony never left our shop." _It's not her. It can't be._

"But we have to… Johanna…" He felt his stomach twist with fear. He had escaped, through the sewer grate in the street and into the framework of the waiting coach. He thought he would never see them again, they would never come for him. He peered from under the blanket's ragged edge and through the fog saw that the figures matched the voices. Dark, lean and wild, they were beautiful demons. He let out a terrified sob.

"I know, but what -"

"What was that?"

He bit his lip, tears flowing hot down his frozen face. Very softly, footsteps crept nearer. He shook harder, knowing his short life was over.

He wailed as the blanket was torn from his fingers, his eyes squeezed shut, but instead of the hiss of an opening blade, he heard a gasp.

His eyes opened to find her face before him, and he remembered. He remembered pies, kindness, care, a home, a job. He remembered fingers, blood, a locked door, a stolen purse. He remembered this woman's gentle voice calling through the sewer. He remembered longing to go to it, the pain as he heard the second voice, the monster's mixing with hers, and knew she would give him to that beast of a barber.

"Toby!?" Mrs. Lovett's voice was small and disbelieving as her hands settled uncertainly on the boy's trembling shoulders. Toby cried harder, unable to resist as she drew him close. "Tobias Ragg, you gave me such a fright!"

He wanted to scream, to pull away from her filthy, bloody arms and run. _Murderer! Witch!_ But he couldn't. His weak little arms wrapped treacherously around her neck as strangled words began pouring out of his mouth, buried in the wet cloth of her dress.

"Slow down, dear, it's alright."

Toby hated himself for clinging to her tighter. "I know what happened to the girl."

XXXXXXX

Johanna stood at the rain-washed window, her shoulders pressed against the cold glass as her staring eyes raked the shadowed room. The only light was the gray teary glow that filtered through the water on the window. There were candles, but she had put them out, unable to abide the disgusting glow of their rosy glass jars.

There was little in the room she could stand. In its vast grandeur, she confined herself to where the stood. She chose to keep on her sailor's clothes despite all the fine, rich dresses laid out in its massive closet. She refused to touch the immense bed, spread with silk and soft down coverlets and reeking faintly of human filth and sin. She refused the dainty treats left for her on a silver tray, refused the glass of brandy beside it. She refused, as much as possible, even the sickeningly perfumed air, trying to breathe only the cold draft coming in through the window.

She wouldn't sleep. She wouldn't leave that spot.

She knew what this place was. She had heard the beadle, more hideous and less discreet than Judge Turpin, talking about such places. She knew they both visited them when the whores and beggar women of London weren't enough, when they needed to destroy beauty to be satisfied. When the judge wanted more than to leer at her through a peephole.

She could always felt those hungry eyes on her. She never turned to meet them, letting them rest on her back until it made her skin crawl. But that was different. The judge, as revolting as he had always been, had never been more than that, never threatening until the night he had let the beadle haul her away to Fogg's asylum. The stares she felt now were both vile and violent. Johanna was afraid to turn away, knowing that those eyes were waiting to become hands, lips, worse.

So she would watch.

She almost smiled, as she thought how much of her life had revolved around watching. The spying judge was always at her back, and the sailor beneath her window. She had almost fainted when he introduced himself as Anthony Hope, because that's what he was to her. He was her hope, her chance of escape, the light in his eyes showing her the way out of the darkness.

Mr. Sweeney Todd, too, now that she had seen him, was all to easy to imagine lurking and waiting for her. In the shadows of the judge's fine gardens, or perhaps from another window, a dark one, she imagined him watching his daughter.

Tears started to well up in her already red eyes. Johanna had always known her father was a criminal, transported for petty theft, but she had created a romantic little story for her family as a child. She didn't dare believe he was innocent, but insisted he had done it for his family, risking the gallows for her and her beautiful mother. She had always wanted him to be a hero.

Now she didn't even have that much comfort. She had cast aside her sickening security, seen her bright-eyed savior slaughtered and her butcher of a father drenched in his blood.

She wished the judge would find her, take her home and keep her safe where her greatest fear was his eyes and her nightmares never came true.

She wished she could see Anthony again, beneath her window, his constant smile convincing her yet again to trust her love and safety to him.

She wished that Mr. Todd was still only the sailor's peculiar friend, waiting to spirit the pair away from Turpin's horrible eyes, or that the ghost of her unfortunate father was still there to comfort her.

Johanna's red-rimmed eyes, already shadowed by dark circles, swept the corners again. She was alone. But if they could watch and wait, then so could she.

XXXXXXX

_Thanks again to everybody who reviewed, and sorry for the delay. This chapter was really slow work for some reason..._


	5. Chapter 5

Sweeney stood alone, leaning against the shadowed doorframe of the pub. The oily yellow light from inside poured through the windows, making figures in the heavy fog that stood like ghosts beside him. His eyes straining against the darkness and the weather, the barber searched the deserted street. _What's taking her so long?_

It had been hours since Mrs. Lovett and the boy had left for the empty shop. They needed things, she had said - dry clothes for Toby, and something for their supper… He had drifted away from her then, imagining his beloved blade sinking into Guffie's flesh as into water. He could almost taste the blood. "Mr. Todd!" Her voice interrupted his fantasy. "You stay here. Make sure he doesn't leave the bar." She put her hand on his as she addressed him, her eyes fixed on his. "And don't kill him, love. Not yet." _Wait. Again. _He scowled at her, but he had done as she asked.

Now the weak light was starting to fail, and so was his patience. He tensed, ready to reach for his razor, every time a drunk staggered out into the shadows of Bell Yard. Even as he relaxed again, he couldn't help noticing the stubble on their chins. Smiling grimly, Sweeney enjoyed the possibility of polishing off one who had drank at the same filthy bar as the coachman.

Another haggard figure lumbered past him, bleary eyes fixing on the dark shape looming unexpected in the doorway. Mr. Todd stiffened, his fingers twitching, longing for his hidden razor. It was only an old man. He let out a long breath as the codger edged by him.

_Come on, pet!_ He glared around the empty square, stepping away from his post. For all her undeniable talents, it was entirely like Mrs. Lovett to make her simple plan complicated and extremely, infuriatingly time-consuming. And she would be talking the entire time; talking to the boy, to the empty shop, to the things she packed, to herself, to nobody. She was _always_ talking.

He froze, snarling, as the door creaked on its hinges. What if it was him and she wasn't back yet? Turning back to the door, he almost collided with the drunk in the doorway - a heavyset man, red faced and reeking of gin, horses, and London's streets. Jack Guffie staggered back, his shoulder hitting the wall as he tried drunkenly to avoid the man in his path. "Watch wuhr yer gowun…"

Sweeney's fists clenched around his razor as the driver lurched by him, so close he could see the imprint of the counter's edge on his cheek where he must have lay unconscious on the bar. The man who had stolen his daughter, sold his innocent lamb, pushed against his elbow as he passed.

_Patience! _Mrs. Lovett's instructions echoed in the back of his mind. _Don't let him leave!_ His hand flew up, the razor's bright blade springing into sight. _Don't kill him!_ He stopped, ready to strike, knowing she was right, hating her for it. The whole of his dead spirit burned to bring the razor down on Guffie's thick neck. _Damn her, where is she!? _His rebellious fingers moved stiffly as he closed the knife and tucked it into his sleeve. It pressed against his wrist as his hand fell heavily on the coachman's shoulder.

With a muffled cry, Jack stumbled beneath the force. "Leaving, sir?" Sweeney's voice was a growl as he tightened his grip. "Surely you can stay for just one more drink."

"Gerroff me, I gorra…" Guffie stopped, twisting around to see better who was interfering. Already on edge despite the gin from his earlier interview, his drunken mind spun as he recognized the phantom behind him, all pale against black, with that too-familiar white streak in his hair. "No, no, no, I -"

"Yes, of course, you -" Mr. Todd cursed inwardly as he forced a smile. "Are going back in to have one more. Aren't you?" He shifted his to the back of his neck as he spun the other man back towards the door.

"No! No, no, no, I - I -" Sweeney dug his fingers into the Guffie's spine as the driver struggled. "I can't!"

"Of course he can't." Both of them turned, the barber's barely controlled fury breaking loose again at the thought of this intruder threatening to free the bastard coachman. But his rage turned to relief when he saw none other than Mrs. Lovett walking towards them, the little boy in tow. "He'll be taking me to Hyde Park." She looked straight into Sweeney's eyes. "Won't he?"

Jack felt almost faint as he found himself thrown from the clutches of his attacker to that of a strange woman with a vaguely familiar voice. _Where…?_ Peering through the fog, his blurred eyes couldn't make out any more than two waiting figures. It didn't matter. Every nerve in his gin- soaked brain told him to get away from the hand still clamped on his neck. "Y-yes, mum, I'll take yer." He broke away with surprising ease and staggered frantically towards his still-waiting coach.

The horses whinnied as he scrambled up to the box seat, shaking themselves. The beasts had been standing in harness since yesterday, but he had no time for rest. He had to be gone. He cast a frightened look back, but saw only the woman and boy climbing into the carriage. The man was gone.

Mr. Todd glared from the corner of the coach as Nellie helped Toby in. She shot him an apologetic glance before looking up over the roof to see if Guffie had noticed her shove the barber hurriedly, and probably a little harder than was necessary, through the little door. "Sorry, love," she whispered as she climbed in. "I didn't want him to see you."

"Never mind." He sat stiffly across from Toby. "What took you so long."

"Constable came by the shop while we were there. Looking for the judge and beadle." She sighed as she sat beside the boy, stretching her aching limbs. "We gave him the story. He might be back, but he won't find anything."

"What about him?" In the dim light that filtered through the gaps of the doorframe, their pale faces stood out, ghostlike, letting her see Sweeney's nod towards the front of the rolling coach.

In the box seat, Jack urged the horses on, panicking. Hyde Park was nearby, he told himself. He just wanted to get this woman out of his coach and be free as soon as possible. Too slow, the exhausted team trudged on, dragging through the streets. _Go faster! _Their hooves pounding on the cobbles made his head throb as he realized that for the second night in a row he was terrified by the passengers in his carriage.

"Cut through the roof." Mrs. Lovett's voice was low. It always was, Sweeney noticed, when she was planning. He slid the razor from his sleeve, staring doubtfully at the wooden ceiling of the coach. It was thin and looked rotten, but he knew it would dull the blade, maybe even chip it. He gave another glance to his partner, who, smiling, took something from a bundle Toby held. "Use this, love." Reaching out, his hand found the heavy cleaver from the bakehouse. He hefted it, admiring the dark glint of it's blade. _Mrs. Lovett's friend._ He felt an odd sense of intimacy at thought of sharing knives.

His frustration vanished as he grinned at her, turning in his seat to better wield the knife. He looked up, ready to make the first blow. "Mr. T!" She was holding something else out. "Take this too."

Guffie's aching head echoed the drum of the horses' hooves. He was coming apart. The drink, the noise, the speed of the coach, the terror twisting in his stomach; it made his head lurch and the gin he had drunk bubble in the back of his throat. He clenched his teeth as the feeling passed.

He started upright, making his vision explode. Was that another beat interrupting the familiar rhythm of the team's jog? No, it couldn't be. But there it was again, behind him. He lashed the reins against the horses necks, driving them on faster. But that sound kept pace, seeming even faster now than the horses could run.

_Chop!_ Jack heard the sound as clearly as he could hear his own heart pounding. Hands shaking, he hauled back on the reins. The team clattered to a stop and stood, sweating and shaking their massive heads. He listened, mortified. But the sound was gone.

Hyde Park wasn't far away. He could be there in minutes and be finished. He gathered the reins again, then froze as he heard a metallic click at his back.

His arm twisted through the carriage's new skylight, Sweeney Todd pressed the muzzle of Anthony's pistol into the coachman's spine. "Where is the girl?"

XXXXXXX

_Was that a voice?_ Johanna started from where she had started to slouch exhausted against the windowsill, fixing her dry, stinging eyes on the doorway. It was the second time that day she had heard something. There was no need to pretend it was the scurrying of mice. Her life with Judge Turpin had taught her better than that. Neither did she have any pretenses about the knocking in the walls or the lewd cries she had heard all day from other rooms.

She gave a little jump as she heard it again. She heard it, and in the silence of the house she swore she could make out words. _She can hear us._

Her entire body ached from standing for so long in that one spot and protested the sudden movement. She longed to sit down, to hide, to only turn away, but now she felt a thrill run through her, strengthening her. _Yes. Yes, I can hear you! I am listening!_

_You can't have me!_

The next whisper ended in a laugh.

XXXXXXX

_A brothel._ The driver, still blubbering, couldn't force himself to say it outright, sobbing about the judge and the country, the fare, the horses, and the workhouse, swearing he hadn't harmed her at all. But Sweeney heard enough to know what he meant, to know that the bastard had sold his daughter for a whore.

He should have guessed when the boy had said she had been dragged into a fine house that it would be something of that nature, but he hadn't. Hearing it now made him freeze, the rickety carriage vanishing around him. His precious baby would be used like her mother. And he had driven her into it, chased her into this monster's coach. Spinning for a long moment in his grief, he felt the familiar rage ignite again, welling up into every muscle.

Nellie watched him, her own heart breaking to see the look on his face. As soon as she had understood where Johanna was she turned to her poor barber, ignoring the driver as she watched the same realization dawn in her beloved's eyes, his determination and anger give way to sickening sorrow. She felt like she could drown in her pity. She would have given anything to be able to soothe his pain, to cool the fury building in his features as his fists slowly tightened around the cleaver and…

She started as she realized what was about to happen, leaping from the seat and springing in front of Mr. Todd. Leaning close to him, she snaked her slender arm through the hole in the roof and slipped her thumb behind the pistol's trigger.

Her face was inches from his, her fingers wrapped with his around the gun, but Sweeney was gone, his eyes squeezed shut, unaware of her presence. She gasped as he tightened his grip, crushing her thumb as the jagged wood around the hole dug into her arms. "Mr. Todd!"

His eyes snapped open, a flash of recognition flickering somewhere in the madness of their depths, and she felt the trigger spring back as he shifted his grip. Pulling her hand away with a almost giddy sigh of relief, Nellie collapsed against her shaking partner. She let her breath out in a faint laugh against his shoulder.

Half aware now of the woman hanging off his chest, Sweeney let himself be caught in another wave of anger. His breath escaping in a wild hiss as he dug the pistol into his captive's back until he could hear the barrel grating against his backbone. "Take us to her."

Mrs. Lovett smiled into the worn leather of his jacket. Now they would have her, safe and sound. With Johanna and her Toby, who knew how much Sweeney might change. She didn't want to see Benjamin Barker's resurrection. No, she found his bloodier counterpart much more exciting. But maybe he could hurt a little less, live a little more, and start to appreciate what he had. And someday, perhaps she and Johanna both could have their little dream home by the sea.

She almost jumped when she felt his arm slide over hers, pinning it to her side, the handle of her heavy kitchen knife moving across her shoulders. For a moment she was blissfully certain she really would have her chance before another spasm of grief and rage surged through his tense muscles and he crushed her against him.

Toby's worries about their current adventure changed to disgust as the woman he had looked to as a mother clung whimpering to Mr. Todd as he squeezed the air from her lungs. He was hurting her, as Toby had always known he would. He would have protected her from him, but she had chosen the barber's scowls and razors over his love.

Her trapped left hand clutched his coat as she pulled both their free arms through the gap in the roof, her fingers prying at his, trying to take the gun away from him. He seemed to falter as Mrs. Lovett finally managed to break his grip on the wooden handle. She let the weapon fall onto the seat behind them. She freed herself as he weakened and guided him down onto the seat as the coach started to move again. Toby felt something twist in his chest as she sat beside Mr. Todd, her hands skimming soothingly over his shoulders while she murmured to him.

The fit passed, and it was the same cold, scowling man that sat across from the boy. "When we get there, Mrs. Lovett -" He looked at her intently as he spoke, his voice its familiar growl. "When we get there, I'll kill anybody there who's laid a finger on her." Nellie, to Toby's horror, nodded.

XXXXXXX

_Thanks again to everybody who reviewed. It's very much appreciated. Also, sorry about the viewpoints changing every other second. I don't like it, but I don't want to leave anybody out, so... I think that'll only get worse, so if you can't stand it, speak now or forever hold your peace._


	6. Chapter 6

Johanna gripped the windowsill fiercely as her body leaned forward, her head held waveringly up to face the doorway. It was a weak posture, one that would suggest exhaustion and fear, surrender. Except for the mad grin that appeared and vanished across her tearstained featured with the feverish rhythm of her breathing.

_You can't have me!_

If she had known how good it felt to be waiting, she would never have turned away and let Turpin's eyes scour her back. If she had known she could feel so alive, so giddy, almost joyful…

So dangerous…

_You can't have me! You can't have me!_

Behind her, the sky was beginning to lighten. The thought of dawn's approach encouraged her. In a little time, she would have won for a night. She would have triumphed. Johanna Todd, the murderer's daughter, will have frightened the night away by watching, come through the dark hours untouched.

_Johanna Todd. _She giggled, the whispers cowering back from her laughter.

_You can't have Johanna Todd!_

The doorknob turned, tearing away all her power, her mirth, her strength as it twisted.

XXXXXXX

Mrs. Lovett opened her eyes as the carriage clattered over a bone-jarring series of bumps, unsure if she had slept at all. "Where are we?" The brooding barber she had been using as a pillow shot her an angry look as she lifted her head.

"The boy says we're almost there." His voice was his typical growl. Although he had allowed her to lean against him through the long ride, there had been none of the tender feelings of the previous night. Nellie forced herself not to be disappointed. _Soon…_

"Well, that's good, then, ain't it?" She looked across the still dark carriage at Toby, who regarded her with an expression she would have expected from Mr. Todd. His little face all sour, his eyes were fixed on her, and had been on for a long time. For a moment, she was caught off-guard. "Poor thing. Did you sleep at all?"

"Enough, ma'am."

She sat up, leaning toward her little assistant. He had spent all the night of Anthony's death clinging to the coach's framework, and she knew he must be exhausted. But now she had him back, and she'd make sure he took a few days off from the shop to rest properly. Maybe they all would, the three of them and Johanna, like a real family. "Don't worry, love. When we get back-"

"I got enough!" Instantly sorry for his outburst, Toby looked guiltily away from Mrs. Lovett's stunned expression. He hadn't slept at all, his eyes fixed on his mother as she sat beside the barber, sometimes caressing him, singing to him. He had known for a long time she fancied their neighbor, but her blind adoration was simply revolting. It had been painful, too, to watch her pour out her love on the sullen, silent Mr. Todd, like pouring honey over a stone. "I- I think we'll be there any minute, is all. There's not really time to worry."

Sweeney looked up for nearly the first time since they had left the city, his eyes meeting the boy's with an odd sort of recognition. He wondered briefly if he sounded that way. He gave his partner a questioning look. She wore, he saw, a hurt expression that almost made him smile. On impulse, he laid his cold fingers lightly on her arm, giving her a twisted smile as the wounded look faded. He let the touch become a friendly pat as he leaned in closer. "I have a plan."

Toby found himself leaning in spite of himself. He had no intention of stopping Mr. Todd, as he did when he had pried at his many secrets for Mrs. Lovett's sake. Even his sense of disgust vanished as he waited slack-jawed to hear what was about to happen, what part he might need to play. The barber opened his mouth, his black-streaked teeth showing through a wicked grin, but before he said a word, the carriage stopped.

Before the coach could even stop rocking on its axles, Sweeney pounced at the door, tearing the latch from its frame and making the door crash against the carriage's side. He found the ground for only a heartbeat, springing into a run. Guffie had only started to ease the tension on the reins as Sweeney leapt the traces and closed his thin fingers around the coachman's leg. Clutching desperately to the roof behind him, he felt himself sliding out of the seat, pulled down as the barber fell. For a dizzying moment, Jack struggled in the air before landing hard across the leveler that hitched the horses to the coach. His already aching skull burst into a blinding wave of pain as he rolled off the heavy bar and onto the stony road. Frightened by his master's cries and the sudden pull of his traces, the nearest horse started in his harness, whinnying and lashing out with his huge hoofs.

Guffie's scream was cut off by the strong and that closed around his windpipe as he was dragged, writhing, through the mud and shoved though the broken door of his carriage. Sprawling across the floor, he felt tears start to form in his eyes. He knew he would never get up, would be killed there in his own coach. He tried to stifle a sob as he felt a cold blade pressed against his neck.

"You said you used to take a judge from the city here." Kneeling by the hapless driver, Sweeney let the razor bit only slightly into his skin, a single drop of blood slowly swelling at its edge. He'd been longing for this too long already and had still longer to wait, but he let himself savor the sight of that one drop until he would make blood flow like the tide. "What was his name?"

"I- I don't know. He lived in Kearney Lane and -"

"Turpin." With a wicked grin, the barber turned to Mrs. Lovett. "I'll play Turpin's messenger, tell him he's having difficulties with his young ward and wants to know if they have a girl matching Johanna's description."

"Yes…" Nellie looked hard at him. "But, love, what about us?" His plan would work, she supposed, but she didn't want to be left behind. If all she was to him was a partner, she wanted to be his partner in all things, share every task, receive every friendly pat and fiendish smile. And it hurt that he would deny her that. "You can't go in alone…"

"Watch him." Standing, he gestured at the coachman and then turned and stepped out of the carriage.

"Mr. Todd!" leaping up, Mrs. Lovett leaned out the door after him. "Mr. -" Her foot caught on Guffie's leg, and she fell. With a startled cry, she landed in her tenant's arms.

Sweeney could feel her heart beating, felt the air move against his face as she let out a shaky sigh of relief. He couldn't help but see the pain and hope in her eyes.

"_You know I love you…"_

He set her carefully on her feet, releasing her. "Be careful Mrs. Lovett." Gently breaking away from her clinging arms, he turned again and began to march towards the house.

Nellie stood staring, feeling almost dizzy. He had been so close. She should have kissed him. If she had kissed him, she would have been content to stay. She would have had to be, since she was sure legs would have melted beneath her and made following him impossible. Or maybe not.

But she had to follow him, had to be beside him. Her mind raced as she considered her options. Skirts whirling as she spun around and leaned into the carriage, she looked down at Guffie, still crying on the floor, his neck streaked with red. "Get up, you. You're about to make another sale."

XXXXXXX

All Johanna's newfound confidence poured out the barely open window as the ornate wooden door creaked open. The figure behind it unfolded like a nightmare creature: blunt fingers appearing first, curled around the dark wood; one heavy boot; a shock of greasy brown hair; a pair of leering eyes.

She never heard the murmuring sounds he made as she stepped fully into the room, like a man trying to sooth a skittish horse. His hands, held up in a parody of good intent, seemed to stretch forward to swallow her up. His sneering, yellow-toothed mouth would devour her. His pig's eyes would look at her, all of her, even though she had been watching. Even though she had been listening. Even though she had said he couldn't.

_No. _Powerless again, she turned with a strangled sound to the window. It was open only a few inches, looking out over a deadly, heavenly three-story drop. She tore frantically at the sash, pressing herself against the pane even as it slid up- and stopped barely a foot above the sill. Flinging all her might into the effort, she couldn't budge it against the heavy nails driven into the wooden frame to keep it shut. She let out a keening cry as she beat helplessly against the glass.

XXXXXXX

"This one's yellow-headed here. Though not as young as the ward, you say. Still, plenty easy on the eyes." Todd couldn't help glaring as his host turned a moment to a hidden window in the woodwork. Richly dressed and impeccably groomed, he reeked of arrogance and vice. Sweeney's heart pumped fire as he imagined him sneering through such a peephole at his daughter, feeling her with his eyes and judging how much he could sell her for. His distaste still showed on his face as the bastard turned to gesture him towards the window. "Care for a gander?"

"His honor was most insistent that the girl be very young. Sixteen."

"His honor is very specific." Covering he peephole with a sigh, the man regarded his guest with a wicked light in his eyes. "Suppose I do have such a girl? What will my lord be willing to pay for her?"

"Anything you like, but I must see her first." Too fast, too desperate, Sweeney knew he had misspoken. _It doesn't matter. She's here._ "I am under strict instructions not to discuss an actual amount until I see the girl."

Tucking his chin smugly to his chest, the snake of a man spoke softly. "The judge knows we have a fixed rate."

XXXXXXX

Johanna clung to the window as she felt hands close around her sides, pulling her back, dragging her towards the great filthy bed. _No, no, no! You can't have me! _Her fingernails bit into the smooth wood, tearing away long stretches of its polished surface as she fought to stay away from him.

She was losing, slowly. The hands pulled hard, bruising her ribs even as her attacker crooned a gentle little tune to calm her. She was losing. She ran out of wood to cling to, fell against him, lost.

She opened her mouth to scream, but one of the now free hands clapped over her lips, stifling the sound. "Hush now, miss. I'll be good and careful with you."

XXXXXXX

"You again?" Guffie tried to keep his knees from shaking as he looked up again at the hulking porter. He toyed anxiously with his dirty cravat, hoping it covered the oozing cut on his neck, as the other man eyed Mrs. Lovett. "And this…?" His gaze rested amusedly on the white skin exposed by her low cut dress. "Your bonnie little birdie the other night was one thing, but this ain't a dump for any cheap whore, you know."

"Whore!?" With an offended look, Nellie tugged uselessly up at the edge of her bodice. "That's rich, coming from a man what works at a bloody brothel!"

"I opens the door, love. That's all." He stepped out of the doorway, leaning with his arms crossed over his chest, to blow his rancid breath in the baker's face. "And I've never opened it for any woman what stood there half so obligingly as you are."

"Times is hard." Flinching away from the porter's advance, she cast a glance to the shadows beside the doorway. There, crouching behind an arbor hung with scarlet roses, Toby caught her look. He stood slowly, eying the open door nervously before he began to edge towards it. He could feel his heart pounding out, drum-like. Couldn't they hear it?

_Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please! _

_Do you find that your life is a terrible bore?_

_Well then come watch my mother be sold as a whore _

_And then see a poor orphan get killed in the door…_

He stifled the thought, wishing he could muffle his pulse, too, as he crawled over the stone lion that flanked the doorway. He could see Mrs. Lovett watch him worriedly, still seeming to be cringing from the porter's rotten breath. "And with things how they are, this suits us both well enough."

Guffie started and Nellie gasped as the porter straightened suddenly with a short, barking laugh. "No, my darling. It won't suit you at all." Toby felt his knees go weak and his lungs freeze as he tried to flatten himself against the marble doorframe. Oblivious, the brute turned to the quaking coachman. "You know they won't take her, right? But you and me can have us a drink while they take a look at her. No skin off my back, eh?" As he reached out to clap Jack on the shoulder, the boy slid through the door and into the perfumed darkness behind it. Mrs. Lovett let out a sigh of relief as she watched him disappear. "Aye, sigh on, my beauty. In ten minutes time you'll be screaming."

XXXXXXX

Grasping desperately at the as the man carried her, Johanna's hopeless struggling grew even more frantic as those horrible hands pressed back gently into that soft, sickening bed. She twisted like a thing possessed, trying to throw herself off, to keep from letting those tainted sheets touch her.

Suddenly, the hands were gone. Johanna flung herself up, only to have those awful hands close again on her arms and push her forcefully back down as a weight threw itself over her. She was trapped.

She tried to scream again, but the monster on top of her swallowed the sound as his lips tried to devour hers. Helpless, she shrieked and wailed into his filthy throat.

XXXXXXX

Sweeney stood mute, stunned, as the other man looked at him with a devil's grin. He couldn't think of a satisfactory answer, any explanation thought wouldn't further reveal his ignorance, so he stared in blank horror. His host nodded. "And at such an hour, too, sending a complete stranger." He casually studied his polished fingernails. "Odd choice of messenger for the judge. He usually sends the beadle."

"Beadle Bamford was indisposed. And his lordship was in a right state. He couldn't bear to wait a moment more than was necessary to know the answer."

"I'm sure."

"I need to see the girl, sir. My lord will be impatient to hear from me."

The wicked gin vanished as the bastard gave Sweeney a deadly glance. "Do you think I'm a fool? You show up the day after we receive an obviously stolen girl, asking to see her specifically and obviously not sent by any of our clients. You'll tell me how you came here, and the truth, sir, if you value your life. Or perhaps -" He smiled again. "If you value hers."

XXXXXXX

The man who ushered Mrs. Lovett into the next room gave no introduction, only waving her, alone, through a carved wooden door which he then closed behind them. Jack Guffie had stayed behind, watching her go, his face deathly pale as the porter opened a bottle of gin. She had known that she'd be alone. He had told her outside that he had waited in the entryway while they looked over Johanna. That's why Toby had come in. He was small enough to slip unnoticed through the house, but big enough, she hoped, to give them the edge they would need to overpower her examiner and find Mr. Todd.

Except that the boy was still hiding in the coat rack as Nellie heard the door close. She forced herself to remain calm, fighting the fear in her face and calming the rebellious racing of her heart. She turned to find his eyes already measuring her with a hungry professionalism.

"You're from the city, I take it?" Reaching out, he pinched the skin of her arm, then tilted her chin to look at her face. "And pretty for a whore. Although…" His fingers left her face as he glanced distastefully at her tangled hair.

"I am _not_ a whore." Her voice almost shook.

"Of course, love."

_Where the hell is Toby?_

On the other side of the door, the boy slid silently along the wall as the doorman sat happily at the table. His life in the workhouse and Pirelli's cart had taught him well how to make himself invisible, but he had never before one so to do something wrong. _But this isn't wrong, is it?_ He wasn't really sure what to think of Mr. Todd's quest to rescue the girl. Nor, he had to admit, did he know what to feel about the barber himself, since it had been Mrs. Lovett who had finally betrayed him.

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. And now he would risk his own life, help her hurt or kill a man, to fuel her hopeless infatuation. He turned the knob slowly, deaf to the porter's crude laughter behind him. He slipped carefully into the room, gliding out of sight behind an elegant table.

He knew Mrs. Lovett had seen him, her frightened expression melting into a show of relief. "Well then, sir, I'm sorry to have wasted your time." She started to move towards the door and her waiting accomplice, but the man threw up his hand, stopping her.

"No need to be sorry, love. I'm always glad for ones like you, what we have to let go. We don't take damaged merchandise, you see. But a pretty thing like you.." He let his hand rest meaningfully on her shoulder, slowly trailing his fingers downward. "No questions asked."

Even as she began to refuse, Toby felt the same disgust growing again to see what she was willing to do for Mr. Todd. She looked pleadingly at him. Quickly, he reached for the cleaver tucked in the waist of his trousers. But he found he couldn't move. He told himself it was only fear, desperately denying the part of himself that remembered how she had clung to her tenant in the coach, that said if she wanted to make herself a whore for the barber, let her.

XXXXXXX

Johanna fought harder and harder, terror fluttering in her stomach like a frightened bird, but found herself pushed harder into the bed for her efforts. She felt sick as his tongue… She pushed the thought away even as it happened again, forcing back another scream.

The hand pinning one of her arms left, and with all the strength she could gather she struck him across the shoulder, flailing. He wouldn't move, his filthy paw only setting about undoing the buttons of her borrowed shirt.

_No!_ She twisted and struggled more violently, making it impossible for him to manage the buttons. Cursing into their forced kiss, the beast freed his other hand to help through his fumbling.

Before Johanna even knew what she was doing, her freed arm shot out, snatching one of the hated pink candle jars from the nightstand, and smashed it over her assailant's skull. He released her mouth, snarling in pain, and Johanna let out a scream to raise Hell against the devil on top of her, a cry of mingled triumph and terror.

XXXXXXX

"Let's start again, then, shall we?" Stepping forward, the bastard in front of Sweeney swaggered and puffed himself up, a filthy bully. He reminded the barber too much of the judge, so aware of his own power and fond of abusing it. "Who sent you? The police? Are you a runner?"

"No one sent me." Snarling, Sweeney stared hard at his host, wishing he could put a razor to his throat and make him feel as helpless as the judge finally had as he greeted death. "I want the girl. Now."

"I'm afraid she has a prior engagement." An ear-piercing shriek tore through the silent hallway, one identical to the one that had echoed the night before in his blood-drenched shop. Mr. Todd's heart leapt in his chest. Before he could so much as move, he felt the bastard grab his wrist. "So have you."

Sweeney gave him a burning look as another scream sounded out. His razor flashed as he flicked it open and the next scream drowned out the whoremonger's cries as the first slash laid open his leering face to the bone. The final blow sent blood flying like flights of cardinals, decking the walls with rubies. He fell slowly to the rich carpeting, quickly soaking it in his flowing, fleeing life as he choked on crimson foam. His dimming eyes saw the barber run down the hallway as he died to the sound of screaming.

XXXXXXX

_Thanks again to everyone who reviewed. The porter, if anyone's interested, is partly inspired by the porter from Macbeth._


	7. Chapter 7

"W-what?" Mrs. Lovett stepped back. But the man followed, his eyes tracing the low neckline of her bodice. This was not what she had planned, not quick and quiet with her and Toby gone before anybody knew what had happened. She had never intended to let it last this long, to let this filthy cretin's fingers mirror the action of his eyes. Her scheme was losing the momentum it needed. She needed to remain in control. She slapped his hand away. "First you say I'm not good enough for you and now you treat me like a whore?" She stood to her full height, eyes blazing. "I will not be taken advantage of. You had better let me pass."

"Oh, pass you will, my sweet. Right out of this world." He came toward her again, his fingers pressing through the whalebone stays of her corset, moving boldly for the strings. "I can't have any loose tongues flapping in the big city. No. Not even a pretty one like yours." He leaned in suddenly, but Nellie tore away with a squeal.

"No, no. I'd never tell a thing, believe me." Toby had never seen his mother so flustered, in such fear. Even with the sinister Mr. Todd lurking upstairs, the vanishing customers, the unearthly mechanical growling in the walls of the shop, she had always been in control. His thoughts urged him to go help her, protect her.

His little fist tightened around the cleaver's handle, but as he started to stand, his wounded feelings overwhelmed him. He sank back into his crouch, bitter, recalling his own fear, the churning in his stomach as he realized what he had been eating, the heart-stopping terror that squeezed his chest as the beadle's heavy corpse fell through the ceiling, the panic he had felt as he fled from their echoing calls. Why should he pity her anymore?

"No, love, you surely won't." Mrs. Lovett shied again, but he snatched her wrist, pulling her close. Toby saw her look at him, her eyes pleading. _Help her! _He started up, but fell back again, defeated. Tears blurred his view of his mother's face as he sat, dropping the knife. Nellie screamed.

Still sitting in the little parlor, Jack paled at the sound, a tumbler of gin clutched in his shaking hand. "Aw, what's this now? Cold to the bones?" The porter sat down, pouring himself another glass. "These nights'll do it do you, that they will." He downed the drink in one swallow. "But that'll keep you warm enough. Oh, you're just weak-stomached. Down with it, man!"

Jack gulped it, wincing, and set down the glass. Across the little table, the doorman swayed happily in his seat, too drunk to notice that Guffie was listening intently to nothing. There were no sounds of struggle from the other room, no sign of the dark-haired man. That man had been a nightmare shadow before. Now his absence was even more unnerving.

Another scream sounded from behind the door. He flinched. He had never planned for any of this, never planned to do more than drink away his guilt after he had sold the girl. This was too much. He never thought he'd be found out, and certainly never meant for anyone to actually be hurt. Now heard muffled pleading sounds through the heavy wood. He steeled himself, shakily pouring another shot and downing it.

He cut off the porter's approving laughter by shoving the table hard into his ribs. With a startled roar, the big man fell as Guffie leapt out his chair and raced to the door.

Nellie felt her heart pounding as she struggled to break his grip on his wrist. He was too strong for her and he knew it, leering as he drew her slowly nearer. _Help!_ The thought that he was enjoying the opportunity to overpower her only made the baker pull and twist harder. _Help me!_

Suddenly, they were both spinning to the floor, her arm finally free. Squirming away from her captor, she cast a wild glance over her shoulder and was shocked to see their enlisted coachman wrestling her "examiner" to the ground. Now the thrill in her blood was victory instead of fear as she stood, her eyes moving to the fireplace on the far side of the room and the poker she knew she'd find there.

Jack planted a knee in the bastard's back as he grabbed his opponent's wrist to twist his arm. Despite the advantage of surprise, and a tough life in London's slums, he was having a hard time. The last long nights were telling on him. With a mighty heave, the man on the floor managed to throw him off, turning to rejoin the fight face-to-face.

And then, with a sudden crack, his face was gone, the floor behind him spattered with his blood and brains. Leaping up in horror, Guffie saw the porter standing unsteadily in the doorway, grinning. In his waving hand was a smoking revolver. The driver started to move away with a cry, but his voice was cut off as the doorman squeezed the trigger and he felt burning lead burst through his ribs.

Mrs. Lovett turned, the poker held ready, only to find both ally and assailant bleeding into the room's luxurious carpets. _What?_ She felt a twinge of regret as the looked over the coachman's body. _Shot?_

Another shot sounded, the bullet pounding into the wooden mantle behind her. Nellie froze, looking down the gun's wavering barrel.

Toby watched from behind the table as the Goliath of a doorkeeper pointed the revolver at his guardian. He was drunk, he knew, but he had already proved he was still sober enough to hit her. He saw her shocked face, heard the click as the next bullet slipped into the chamber, the porter's laughter.

With a frightened cry, he sprang into action, burying the cleaver in the porter's back. Not deep enough to kill, the wound at least caused the brute to throw up his arm as he fired, sending the shot into the ceiling.

Toby clung stunned to the knife, staring as the blood poured down his sleeve. _What did I do?_ He stood there still, even as the roaring man twisted back him arm and fired again into the floor. "Toby, look out!" Mrs. Lovett ran across the room, the poker raised and her face filled with fear again. Fear for him. He almost felt joyful as he started to run.

His head still turned towards the boy, the porter never noticed Mrs. Lovett until she brought the poker down on his ugly head. He fell, but not before squeezing off the last of the revolver's six bullets.

Toby fell, screaming.

XXXXXXX

Sweeney ran, his footsteps crashing through the dark house like thunder. Up stairs, around corners, down long, richly decorated hallways he went, always bringing the source of the shrieks closer and closer. Each cry split his heart. He wanted to see whoever was making his daughter scream that way dead, wanted to make them suffer. He _would._ He was so _close…_

He turned another corner and now saw two men. One stood, waiting, by a doorway. The other peered through another peephole, chuckling as he turned to the guard. And from the room they were watching came the guiding cries.

Never pausing, he charged towards them, pulling Anthony's pistol from his coat and firing on the spying man. The bullet struck him in the temple, painting the wall behind him red. Sweeney dropped the empty gun and threw himself at the startled guard.

Johanna tore another wail from her raw throat, twisting madly to escape the monster pinning her. Even when he slapped her and shouted at her to stop, she kept screaming. And now she knew it was working. Outside she heard the thunder of footsteps. Soon, she would be safe. _You can't have me._

The door burst open, crashing against the wall, and her attacker leapt away in alarm. Johanna was free. Half laughing and half sobbing in relief, she scrambled out of his reach, falling over the far side of the bed.

Todd froze as he entered the room, stopped dead by the sight of a strange man straddling his innocent daughter. As the filthy animal released her, turning, startled, to face him, he felt his anger boil even hotter. He charged, snarling, his dripping razor held high, but was stopped again by his collar pulled back hard against his throat. Turning, he saw the guard from the hallway clutching the back of his coat, a bleeding gash gaping too low across his throat.

Cursing his haste, Sweeney swung wildly back at him, no more successful at polishing him off. The guard only blocked, taking the blow on his forearm, but released the barber, who lunged again at the bastard beside the bed. This time his fist met the blackguard's face with a satisfying crunch as both of them tumbled to the floor. Pinning him with his free hand, he lifted his razor. The man clutched at his wrist, but he thrashed his arm like a thing possessed, finally breaking free. "_DON'T YOU EVER TOUCH HER!"_

His slash was thrown wide as the guard's boot struck his elbow, flinging his precious blade out of his hand to spin across the floor. Another kick caught him in the ribs before he could react, throwing him away from his quarry. Pulling a knife from his pocket, the bleeding guard leapt at Sweeney, smashing him back to the floor as she started to rise.

Mr. Todd struggled and nearly broke free, still intent on the other man, but his assailant snaked an arm across his throat and pulled him back. His other arm, dripping heavy red drops where Sweeney had cut him, held the knife high over the barber's chest. Sweeney grabbed the wrist, slick with blood, and held the glittering point away, but he knew it would be a losing fight since he needed to battle for every breath as well.

The guard, too, considered his odds while the blood drained from his arm. He would be killed without question if he had overestimated how long he could keep this up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sweeney's intended victim stand, and he knew his best option. He tossed the knife to the ground and kicked it towards the other man. "Here, help me with him!"

XXXXXXX

"Toby!" The poker clattered to the floor as Mrs. Lovett rushed to the boy's side. Groaning, he rolled on the red-stained floor, clutching the bleeding wound above his knee. She could feel the hot, sticky liquid seeping through her skirts as she knelt beside, pressing her slender hands over his. The blood bubbled through her pale fingers. "Hold still, love, it'll be okay."

"No – Oh!" Tears started to form in her eyes as she heard his pained sob.

"Hang on, dear." Looking around franticly, she scrambled back to the porter's crumpled corpse, jerking the cleaver out of its back and using it to hack a rag out of her dress. She pried his hands away and pressed the cloth desperately to the dark hole in his flesh. "I'm here. _Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around_…" The drenched fabric let the blood trickle out under her palms, useless.

Toby's mind drifting dizzily from anything but the searing pain in his leg, but he heart that snatch of song and his heart gave a wounded squeeze. It was his song to her. He had wanted to save her from Mr. Todd. And now she had sacrificed him for the barber if not to him. How could she say that now, when he –

He cut off the thought, not willing to even think that he might really die. But now that it had occurred to him, he knew it was true. He had seen boys die from lesser wounds in the workhouse. He felt fear run through him again, mingling with the pain.

"Come on, Toby, stay with me, love." Nellie was trying hard not to cry. He could hear it in her voice as she let one hand leave the wound to lay her fingers, wet with his blood, to his pale face. "_Nothing's gonna harm you, darling, not while I'm around…"_

"Stop…" His voice a croak, he weakly shook her hand away.

"W-what?"

"Don't sing that song." Tears flooded hot down his cold cheeks. "You… You don't care if I die." Mrs. Lovett looked as though she had been struck, her own tears starting to flow. "You did this to me."

"No. No, Toby." Mrs. Lovett blinked, refusing to let tears blur what could be her last look at the boy she loved as a son. "No, I never wanted to hurt you."

"You would have let him kill me. Last night. You locked me in." He clenched his teeth as his little body shook violently. "And I wouldn't be hurt…" He bit back a cry. "If you hadn't had to follow him now…"

"No…" Beneath her shaking hands, the boy twisted in pain. "You don't understand, I…" _I did all that._ Her tears came harder. "I…" She couldn't deny it. She would have killed him although she loved him. A strangled wail escaped her. _It's true._

XXXXXXX

Johanna peeked out from her hiding place under the massive bedstead, peering under the hanging edges of its covers. On the far side of the bed, she could see two figures thrashing, wrestling on the floor. Both wore dark red stains on their sleeves like badges, tokens from some dark lady to her champions. Before them she saw only feet. They were the boots of the man she had just been delivered from. Staggering away, they stopped, turned.

"Here, help me with him!" A piece of glinting steel slid across the floor, and his hand, the same hand that had been fumbling with the buttons of Anthony's borrowed coat, came reaching down. She shied instinctively, cowering further into the darkness under the bed. It lifted away again.

After it finished with her rescuer, the hand would come back for her. It would paint her with his blood as it touched her.

But it wouldn't. It would never touch her; never taste the crimson that had already marked both of the other fighters. _Don't you ever touch her! _the man had said. _You can't have me!_ That strange feeling of strength crept up in her again, bubbling out in a childish giggle as she crawled out of hiding. On the floor near the foot of the bed, silver gleamed beautifully in the red light that fell through the window. Her fingers closed around the razor, lifting it, it's bloodied blade entrancing. Its edge seemed to sing to her as she stood slowly. It sang freedom, a welcome home.

"You can't have me." She spoke in a whisper, leaning close to the friendly blade. It had a sweeter song than her blinded finches, or the silent, heartbroken larks. She almost sang back to it as she turned like a sleepwalker toward the man who held the knife. _I've found a friend. Hear her sweet singing…_

His back was to her as she paced silently towards him, the razor gleaming in her hand like a guide. _No one can hurt me with you in my hand, my friend... _It rose high, her arm moving behind it like a marionette's. _My lovely friend…_

The moment broke like a spell and, with a scream like a battle cry, she brought the razor down across the back of his neck. Blood sprayed across her face as the knife clattered to the floor. Now she was badged, honored like her guardian. Now it was the roaring monster that was marked for the sacrifice, not her. She would slaughter it herself. In shock and terror, the man turned to see who had hurt him and she swung again and again. Wild gashes scored his face and chest as he screamed beneath her flailing blows. Another swing slashed across his throat and he fell. Johanna let out another childish laugh as she half knelt, half collapsed beside the twitching corpse.

The guard trying to strangle him, Sweeney supposed, had been a street fighter, strong and fast, with a knife-fighter's reflexes. He probably had, too, a knife-fighter's experience of death – quick, efficient, simple. He would not be accustomed to murders like his comrade's. He had never seen a maddened soul break, never seen such instinctive, animalistic brutality. There, the barber had an advantage. He had watched it for fifteen years in Australia, had lived it both there in Botany Bay and in London. And when the guard, in horror, loosened his hold, he let those memories echo again into action.

Tearing half-free from the faltered chokehold, he swung back, ramming his elbow into the other man's jaw. He struck again, this time hitting the soft flesh of his neck. His men arm fell away from Todd's own neck as both men gasped for air. Even as he choked on the stale, perfumed air, Sweeney lost no time in rolling clear to snatch the fallen knife.

The guard was rising, but it was too late. He had already lost the rhythm of the fight. Sweeney thrust the stranger's blade up under his ribs. It was enough, but he took him by the collar and stabbed him twice more before letting him fall. Still on his knees and wheezing, he turned uncertainly to Johanna, kneeling beside her own kill, her tousled golden hair streaked scarlet.

XXXXXXX

Another surge of pain shot through Toby's body. He groaned, letting his head roll, limp. A hand was there against his cheek. It was Mrs. Lovett's. And she was crying. He forced his unfocused eyes to look back at her, his vision seeming to drift through a sudden weariness.

"I'm so…sorry…Toby!" Tears gushed hopelessly down her face, her words breaking into sobs. She meant it. His anger drained with his life, leaving no pain but the throbbing, burning wound in his leg. _Why did I say that?_ It was true, yes. But he should have known better, should have held the struggle in his heart until both were still to save her from pain.

"I'm sorry, ma'am." Weakly, he held out a searching hand; let his fingers rest across her arm. "Please, Mrs. Lovett. I…didn't mean it."

"No, you're right, I…" Her voice was desperate. They both knew she didn't have long to make him understand. "But I never meant it. I love you… Toby…"

"I love you, too." He wanted to look at her, so she would know how much he meant it, but his eyes wouldn't focus. He was so tired. It felt like he was drowning. "_Nothing's gonna harm you… Not while… I'm…"_

"Toby!" Nellie shook the boy as he went limp, terrified. _He's not dead yet. He's not._ Mr. Todd. He could do something, he had to. He was a barber-surgeon. _Where is he?_ "Mr. Todd!" The house was silent. Toby was silent, his face deathly pale. She flinched at the thought. No, snowy pale, pale as beach sand, or the foam on the waves. "Mr. Todd!" He had to come right now. No, she had to find him. She stood, feeling drunk. "Mr. Todd!" It was too much. Mrs. Lovett fell to the floor in a faint.

XXXXXXX

There was nothing in Sweeney's world except the girl in front of him, kneeling in blood like a princess would kneel in prayer. He edged closer, still on his knees. In her hand, his razor glistened with rubies. This was his whole life sitting before him.

He approached carefully, almost afraid. He remembered her face the night before. She had been horrified of him. Would she still be?

She didn't seem to see him, her eyes fixed vacantly on the creeping crimson stain on the floor. Slowly, a light seemed to enter those beautiful eyes as they lifted to meet his. There was disbelief in her stare, recognition a familiar kind of madness. "You…" That one word hung for a long second. Then her tear-streaked and blood-spattered face filled with a rush of emotions, too many to be recognized. With a cry that could have been fear, grief, joy, or rage, she flung herself at the barber.

The razor's back dug into his shoulder as she threw her arms around his neck. With her lips pressed against the leather of his jacket, she screamed into his chest until her cries faded into breathless, wailing sobs, her sobs into soft weeping, and that into silence as exhaustion overcame her.

Mr. Todd placed his arm gingerly across her back, moving as though he had forgotten how to hold another person, and hooked the other around her knees as he stood. Without a sound, Sweeney carried his daughter away as the sunlight spilled warm and red over the horizon.

XXXXXXX

"Mrs. Lovett." Nellie half-heard her name, sounding strange and distant as though she were under water. She groaned, shifting, but didn't open her eyes. "Mrs. Lovett." Now it was louder, and it was Sweeney Todd.

It was Sweeney Todd, who she had been going to fetch for…

"Toby!" Now she started up dizzily. _No._ It would be too late. What had happened? She had been calling for the barber, screaming, and then… Fainted. Her heart sank as Sweeney pushed her firmly back down. "Mr. Todd, where is he? Did you…" _Did he what? He wasn't there, how could he save him?_ Tears started to well up again, but she blinked them back, laying her head back weakly.

She blinked again when she found herself looking up not at the brothel's whitewashed ceiling but the moldering canopy of the coach. She was propped up against one of its dirty seats, her head on its cushion. Mr. Todd was crouching in the open doorway, leaning over her. Behind him, on the seat opposite her, Johanna was sleeping a silver razor clutched in her hand.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, no. I fainted. But Toby…"

"Will live." His voice was flat, his face expressionless as ever, but Mrs. Lovett stared, unable to believe he was telling the truth. "If we get him home." She leapt up, hope giving her new life. Twisting around, she saw over her shoulder a motionless bundle, the barber's black coat wrapped around her silent assistant, lying on the seat behind her.

Sweeney watched as she turned, kneeling beside the boy. With an uncertain glance at him, she lifted the flap of leather that covered his face, folding it down past his chest. He was pale almost frighteningly so, but his chest rose and fell weakly but steadily. Nellie looked up at her tenant again, her eyes shining. He looked down, suddenly feeling out of place.

It had been strange. He didn't feel himself when he put his arms gently around another creature, even his sweet Johanna. Or when he had knelt beside the boy, deftly cutting the lodged bullet out of his leg before binding the wound carefully with strips cut from the room's fine curtains. Or when he had carried first Johanna, then Toby, and finally Mr. Lovett herself out to the coach, which he had driven back to

London. It shouldn't feel so odd, but it did. Whatever part of him it came naturally to had died with Benjamin Barker. _Maybe…_ He reached out hesitantly to touch her arm as she beamed at him, but stopped. He let the hand fall. _No. _"We're in an alley off Fetter Lane. It isn't far, but you'll have to carry him. Can you…"

"Yes, of course." She wiped her glistening eyes as she turned away from the boy to face him. He couldn't remember ever seeing her so happy, ever seeing so much genuine joy all at once. And he knew it wasn't only for Toby. _"You know I love you."_ "And Johanna?"

"I'll carry her." He moved out of the doorway, going further into the carriage's musty interior. "Climb out and I'll hand him to you."

Nodding, she quickly obeyed and turned back to look up at him, expectantly. She could scarcely believe that she still had her son, even more thrilled that it had been her beloved barber who had brought that miracle about. Now he appeared again, Toby cradled awkwardly in his arms as he knelt in the open doorway. She smiled and he frowned when their arms touched, the boy shifting heavily from his into hers. Toby felt cold against her chest, but she let the shallow movement of his robs comfort her.

The city was, as usual, shrouded with fog, and the street outside the alley's entrance was still fairly quiet. _Good. _All four of them covered with blood, they would make a pretty suspicious lot in plain sight. It's take a great deal of luck, still, to get back to Fleet Street undetected. But they'd manage, or think of something.

Mr. Todd appeared in the door again, this time carrying Johanna, and climbed carefully down the steps. For just a moment, he stood looking down at the girl in his arms before casting a sideways glance at Mrs. Lovett. It wasn't quite the shattered look she had seen before, but his eyes were full of uncertainty, like a new father. She smiled. He nodded. Then both crept out into the misty street, bound for home.

XXXXXXX

_I owe you guys a few apologies. First for taking so bloody long with this chapter. Also for all the typos in the last chapter. I'm a little key-board retarded, I think. I need a "Hey Stupid" checker instead of a spell-checker. Many thanks to Cascaper for pointing them out._

_Mostly, sorry to everybody who reviewed saying "Please don't kill Toby." You shouldn't have said anything. I just couldn't resist messing with your heads. Sorry. My muse is evil.  
_

_At least I _did_ resist the urge to have Johanna cut her wrists instead of kill that creep._

_And, of course, thanks to everyone who reviewed. :)_


	8. Chapter 8

"Tobias." Razor in hand, Sweeney stood tense over a customer. "Go fetch a clean towel for the gentleman. There will be some in the back room." The boy sat on the trunk that had once held his master's body, his crutches propped on the wall beside him. It had become his favorite perch since his healing wound prevented him from helping Mrs. Lovett in her shop. And since, too, it had seemed a relief to maintain a little distance between himself and the baker. Not that the first weeks with the demon barber weren't awkward in their own cold, silent way, but it seemed preferable to living in the aftermath of his confrontation with his mother.

"Yes, sir." He eased himself off the trunk's smooth-worn lid, taking up his crutches, and limped to the door in the back of the shop. He shut it loudly enough to be sure Mr. Todd could hear it close, then hobbled into the dusty room. There were no towels, only the decrepit remains of a bedroom. It had once been the barber's, or perhaps the man's who had rented the flat before him. Now only Toby used the neglected bed. He sat down on it to wait. That was the only reason he had been sent away, to wait out of sight while Sweeney polished off the man in the chair. He could still hear it though, and listened a little guiltily to the gurgling, the spray of blood, the mechanical chorus of the tilting chair. He waited.

By the time the boy returned, the blood had been mopped up and Sweeney stood, looking blankly out his grimy window. He had found since Johanna's rescue that the satisfaction that followed a kill was gone. It felt as though he had suddenly lost momentum, lost the purpose that drove him on. Killing, breathing, living was only a habit, and he suddenly felt so sickeningly tired.

In the courtyard below, Mrs. Lovett dashed to and fro with a platter of hot pies. She had to work harder now, without Toby. Johanna, she had told him, was shy of the chattering crowd. She appeared now, his angel, bringing a mellower group of women their orders. Sweeney had noticed how she was only sent to the quieter tables, always moderately dressed and kept away from the young bloods he saw eying the baker. He knew Nellie was looking out for her, choosing her work carefully, and he was grateful.

He shifted his weight and fingered the razor in his belt. It was almost shameful that his landlady was still taking care of the poor thing after he'd been gone those fifteen years and now finally had her back. But a coward part of him stopped dead at the thought of meeting her, speaking to her. It was just so strange. He watched her retreat into the pie shop, glancing nervously around her. It must be strange for her, too.

Behind him, he could hear Toby hobbling slowly back to his seat on the trunk. The boy was a constant reminder of his own kindness, a ghost of a part of him he had thought long dead. He turned to watch his faltering path.

The boy had very nearly died himself, had laid weak and silent for days. Now he limped, and tired quickly, but he was healing. _Maybe…_ "How…" He struggled to make the simple words come out, fought to feel them. "How is your leg?"

Toby looked up, surprised. "It still hurts, sir, but not as much now. Thank you, sir." Sweeney nodded and turned away. _Maybe not yet._

XXXXXXX

Mrs. Lovett sighed as she bustled back through the door of the pie shop. Her legs were aching, making her miss Toby's help. Johanna was overwhelmed by the crowds outside, and no wonder, the poor thing. Only the thought of what the girl had told her about life with the Judge was enough to make her skin crawl. At least she could put that behind her now, unless perhaps living in the past ran in her family.

The blonde stood behind the counter rolling pie crust, looking up as Nellie entered, her eyes wide and uncertain, but she calmed again quickly. She was improving. Giving her an encouraging smile, the baker sank gratefully onto one of the kitchen stools. "Running myself to nothing out there, Johanna. My poor bones is aching something awful." She was glad, resting in the silence, that she had chosen to keep customers out of the actual store for Johanna's sake.

"Would you like me to…?" Her voice was worried, but she lay down the rolling pin, ready to help. As delicate as she seemed, she was a brave girl.

"No, dear, it's alright." Leaning back, Mrs. Lovett peered through the lacy curtains at the hordes of customers. "I have a good mind to close early. What do you think?" Johanna nodded, smiling. As plain as it was the poor girl was relieved, Nellie couldn't help admiring her Todd-like restraint. Perhaps she did take after him.

Johanna hadn't seen the barber since they left that awful house. The baker herself had hardly seen more of him. That was partly because of Toby, but now she longed for their company. She longed to take the leap from delivering their meals and fleeing the possibility of the boy's unforgiveness to being family again, to make her hand the one Sweeney would hold as he took the same dreadful steps with Johanna. "Maybe we'll make a nice supper. Something special." She paused. "For the four of us." Looking up, she saw Johanna frozen behind the counter, her pretty gray eyes fixed uncertainly on her guardian. She was afraid, but slowly crept a smile across her pale face, small but genuine.

Mrs. Lovett smiled back. Tonight would be the night.

XXXXXXX

Johanna couldn't help remembering, as she climbed the old stairs, the horror she had felt as she last ran up those steps, couldn't force herself to open the doorknob just yet. The memories of Anthony's death were still too fresh. But she had to go in. She knocked softly.

"Come in." She had heard that gruff voices in snatches through Mrs. Lovett's ceiling but her heart jumped as it spoke now to her. With shaking hands, she opened the door, her breath catching as she crossed the threshold.

Inside, the shop was dark and run down, but it was clean and its two inhabitants working quietly. The barber, her father, looked up in faint alarm as she entered. "Johanna…?" She let her eyes rest on the gaunt white face, the white-streaked black mane, the sunken, shadowed eyes of the man who had been both the her nightmare and her escape to safer dreams.

"Mrs. Lovett closed the shop early." The flesh beneath the girl's eyes, too, was beginning to darken. Sweeney frowned, worrying. "She thought we all might take supper together." His frown deepened as he turned away, winding his fingers nervously in the rag hanging from his belt. Beneath the wide window, he saw the tables in the courtyard were already starting to clear. It was too late to tell the baker to wait. He wasn't certain, anyway, he would have wanted to. But neither was he sure he could sit at the table with the daughter whose life he missed, whose love he killed, who he heard singing quietly late at night beside the oven that had burned that love, _Sir, I did love you even as I saw you, Even as it did not matter that I did not know your name…_

On the edge of his sight, he saw a careful movement. It was her, standing at the corner of the glass looking out. Cautiously, she glanced up as him.

"This is a nice window." Her voice was soft, almost faint, and beautiful like her mother's. The barber felt like he was being strangled. "If I had to be shut behind a window again, I'd want a big one like this."

The corner of his pallid lips tugged up almost imperceptibly. He nodded, looking at his daughter. "Let's go."

XXXXXXX

Nellie felt as though the pounding of her heart might shatter the whalebone stays of her corset as she heard the footsteps coming down the stairs. Throwing the last of the silverware onto the ready table, she hurried to the door to see them coming down the stairs. The sight made the throbbing in her breast swell with emotion.

His boots heavy on the old wood, Sweeney Todd, _her_ Sweeney, stepped steadily down with Tobias in his arms. Johanna came behind him, carrying the boy's crutches. They were an awkward, solemn trio, but they were together, and they were hers.

Mr. Todd's expression was grim and unsettled, but there was something less dangerous about him, something softer. She wanted so bad to touch him, to find out if he would hear her now. But Toby, staring at her from the barber's hold, stopped her, made her afraid to stir. She stood deer-like, quelling the trembling in her fingers, as the somber party came towards her, close enough to touch. And saw, in the boys eyes, fear, regret and hope.

They shared a smile, and she flung her arms around the boy and barber both, releasing them only for a second to draw Johanna in as well. She could have cried. Instead, she forced herself to let go and bustled the broken family, whole, inside.

XXXXXXX

_So, I have good news and bad news for everyone who wanted the story to continue. And thanks, by the way. It's very kind of you._

_The bad news is that this was supposed to be the end when I planned it out originally. The good news is that I've been working on a plan to extend the story that I'm fairly happy with. The thing is, I need your opinion on something._

_D'you remember, back in the Author's Note before Chapter 1, I said you could think what you like about whether Lucy was dead or not because it wouldn't matter? Well, in the original plan it didn't. But the new part of the plot will depend on our friendly beggarwoman. So, if it would throw you off or bug you if she just miraculously reappeared after you thought she was dead, or even if you think I'd better just let well enough alone, please let me know._

_Please leave a review, or vote in the poll on my profile page thing, or even send me an email if you like.__ Whatever works for you. I just don't want to mess up a story I am very happy with._

_Thanks very much for reading, folks._


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